


not enough to feel the lack

by icarusandtheson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Implied Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, M/M, pre-Alex/George
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:58:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusandtheson/pseuds/icarusandtheson
Summary: Lawrence has his head against the window when Alex settles into the backseat, lights catching bright in his eyes.“I’m thinking of starting ballet,” he says, to Alex or the window, and then, definitely to Alex, “Hey.”------Alex supervises his boss' son on the way to a party neither of them want to go to.





	not enough to feel the lack

Lawrence has his head against the window when Alex settles into the backseat, lights catching bright in his eyes.

“I’m thinking of starting ballet,” he says, to Alex or the window, and then, definitely to Alex, “Hey.”

“Hi.” Alex checks his phone, sends off a quick text to Washington to let him know they’re on their way. The response is immediate, even by his boss' usual standards, and Alex huffs a laugh. “Are you okay? Your dad wants to know.”

Lawrence’s mouth tugs up at the corner. “No major disasters since the last time he texted me, no.” He turns to look at Alex. “Don’t tell him about the ballet thing. I’m still workshopping it.”

“You got it,” Alex mutters, typing his response.

**To George Washington:** No major disasters. (Direct quote).

**From George Washington:** Cute.

Alex can picture the eyeroll, the fond exasperation Washington would make a show of smothering.

Lawrence is still watching him when he looks up, vaguely curious. He won’t ask, well-mannered to a fault, so Alex pockets his phone and doesn’t bother with some half-formed excuse. “Alright, hit me.”

Lawrence thuds his head back against the headrest. “I’m going to spend the next few hours answering the same questions about my grades and my hobbies and my future, and if I repeat the exact same answers one more time I’m going to lose it. So, ballet.” He lolls his head in Alex’s direction. “Thoughts?”

Alex arches an eyebrow. “You want my input?”

Lawrence gestures at him. “You dance,” he says.  

“Not like that.” Not for a while, either -- he thinks he mentioned it once, in passing, and he’s surprised Lawrence remembers at all.

Lawrence mirrors his expression. It’s more effective on his face, or maybe it’s in the eyes, Washington’s exact warm shade of brown. “What, is it not cool enough for you?”

Washington’s exact shade of unimpressed, too.  

Alex snorts. “No, just not my style -- too structured.” He gets enough of that at work, can’t imagine trying to lose himself in a rigid set of rules set out for him.

Lawrence considers that for a moment. Outside, the world blurs into streaks of light. A bit of it catches Lawrence’s cheekbone, paints him gold for a brief moment before it slides away into the dark.

“I think the structure is how they can do what they do, though.” He traces a shape in the air, low to high to low again, a minimalist ballerina in flight. “You can’t just jump, you have to build up to it.”

Lawrence shrugs. “I’d like to see how it feels to be up there. When I watch videos of it, they just -- they hang there, for a second. Like the laws of physics give them a break.” He pauses. “It feels like it would be quiet for that second, and really still. I want to see if I can do it.” He looks back at Alex, hopeful in a vague way Alex can’t entirely place. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, because there’s probably nothing he understands more. Then, because he never wants this kid to understand it the way he does, “You don’t have to go, you know. Not if you really don’t want to.”

“I know. But you’ll be there, and my dad. It won’t be horrible.” Alex doesn’t say anything, but he must pull a face, because Lawrence laughs, the sound warm and loud in the small space. “You hate it, huh?”

Alex rests his head against the seat and groans, only part exaggeration. “Completely.”

Lawrence hums, knowing. “He does too, you know. He’s just better at pretending.”

Alex blinks slowly, wonders for a moment if he’s slipping or if Lawrence is just that clever. “Yeah, I know,” he says, and does his best not to look anywhere in particular.  

“Good. We can all get out together.” Lawrence brushes the curls out of his face, apparently satisfied. His hair is longer than it was the last time Alex saw him -- he must be growing it out. “So, just to recap -- not lame?”

Alex looks over, and Lawrence is suddenly very invested in his phone.

He’s not good with kids, he knows he’s not. Lawrence is settled, though, secure in himself in a way Alex isn’t even sure he’s managed in his own life. He’s kind and smart and good, and Alex couldn’t fuck him up if he tried.  

“Not lame,” Alex confirms, and the light catches on Lawrence’s smile as they pass under the next streetlight.

**Author's Note:**

> *From the Dare to Write Challenge. Prompt 91: spitting image.  
> *Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos and comment if you liked it!  
> *Find me on Tumblr at [icarusandtheson](https://icarusandtheson.tumblr.com/)


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